


Sugar

by Snark (Foibles_and_Follies)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Don't Try This At Home, Horror, Kids being dumb, Mild Gore, Not Beta Read, October Prompt Challenge, Urban Exploration, almost a creepypasta, questionable life choices, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foibles_and_Follies/pseuds/Snark
Summary: Writing prompt:  write something centered around a personal or universal fear and play with horror conventions





	Sugar

As we pulled up to the derelict sugar refinery, I felt myself gripped by excitement and nerves. The weather had cooled and the sun was just starting to set enough for us to sneak into the industrial park with little notice. Once upon a time, my grandfather had worked in this building. My uncle used to tell me all about the place, back when he lived with us. Long after bedtime, eyes wide and bright with a bottle in his hand and his favorite chair. He would mention the strangest things on those nights. Shades that filled even the brightest rooms, the smell of burning caramel and a heat that brushed almost right against the back of your neck. He said grandpa used to tell him to keep his head forward and focus on why they were here, until that feeling swept away. He never told me what he saw the final time grandpa brought him to his job. That night, he finished his drink and told me "always listen to the advice of your elders. They know what they're talking about." He sat in that chair, motionless and breathing heavy until I went upstairs to bed. That night scared the crap out of me. I had nightmares full of faceless workers and heat like a candle pressed close behind me and the smell of caramel. My mom scolded him and he just never picked it back up, even years later. He took the rest of those stories to the grave, never providing the closure of an ending, the reassurance of knowledge. We didn't go to his funeral; I don't know if it was because of that night or some other argument. But mom never talked about him after that night.

And so, I rounded up a group to go on a little abandoned building adventure fueled with Fireball and cider. Moreso Fireball to be honest. A small party focused on some (mostly) harmless fun, and a few dozen pictures of the place to satisfy my curiosity. Sure, Dave was only coming along to tag the place, but Barb and Jay were itching to do something new before it got too cold. I'm not sure if Mark mentioned why he wanted to come with, but there he was, waiting at our destination. He had a cigarette in one hand and a flashlight tapping his leg in the other. Behind him was the monolithic structure, dwarfing the other buildings dotting the waterside this far from the city. I snapped a quick shot while we were pulling supplies from the car. 

You could tell buildings had been abandoned for ages. If the owners ever visited, they didn't bother with maintenance. Some higher floors had broken hanging window panes, a few knocked out like the crooked teeth of a jack o lantern. Barb had commented on how gross it would be inside, but eagerly agreed to help break in. With a little practiced hop on her heels, she vaulted up onto a ledge and kicked in an old dusty window. Her ponytail was the last thing I saw in the quickly dying sunlight. I could hear the guys joking behind me, but I ignored them to strain my ears at the decrepit building. Boards breaking and a lot of debris falling was all I could hear over the laughing behind me. At last, the door opened in hard jerks, Barb appearing as she repeatedly shoved her bodyweight against the door. She had bits of wood chips on her shirt, with sweat dusting her brow from the exertion. 

"Clown crew! Let's go," she said as she sniped a bottle of booze from Jay's bag and ran back inside. 

My initial thought was of those old Windows screensavers. The ones with the pipes snaking up the screen and moving all over the place. They covered the walls, the ceiling, all the way down the hall and even near some of the grimy windows. It was like urban ivy, overtaking the shell of the factory. I flipped out my camera and a light and started snapping pictures with a grin.

"Hey," an elbow shoved my side and I turned to see Barb. We wore matching grins as she locked elbows with me and dragged us further ahead. She had apples in her cheeks and a glint in her eye as she pulled me to a hole punched in the river side of the building. It looked like a big arched window may have once sat there. I imagine it would've been beautiful with the sunrise and the water, but the entire frame and glass were gone. There wasn't even a trace inside the building. I craned my head over the edge, but it wasn't there either. A thud and a muted curse brought me back into the building. Mark was laughing, loud honking noises that I'd never heard from him, leaning against his knees to hold himself up. Jay was holding his head in both hands, clutching the pipe coated wall for support, while Dave tried to shine the flashlight on his face. Barb was halfway between me and the guys; she turned to me with an arched brow. 

"Lover boy smashed his head off a few pipes trying to look cool," she stage whispered, before joining Mark with lighter giggles. I felt some sympathy for him and snapped a few shots of the hallway and archway framing the river before running back over. Dave gave Jay a pat on the cheek and a peck on the forehead before pulling away and taking a shot from Barb's bottle. He winced at the taste; Barb loved sickeningly sweet booze and I did not envy him. He handed it back to her and spat the swig on the ground. I watched him head over to Mark to beg while Barb sniffed and threw the bottle in her bag. I moved further into the building, dragging a gloved hand over one of the many pipes. I could the heat against my palm and paused, cocking my head. Besides us, it was silent. There wasn't the vibration of water traveling through it. They seemed sturdy, but a knock confirmed they were hollow. 

I brushed my confusion aside and turned towards the rest of the group coming towards me. Jay was still rubbing his forehead and wincing, but seemed okay. Dave ran ahead, his bag clanging with cans of spray paint slapping against his back. He shoved a door at the end of the hallway open, but the low light from the setting sun obscured him. 

Once he was out of view, Mark sidled up next to me, still catching his breath, face slightly flushed. I handed him the flashlight and pulled him arm, aiming up. Thick cobwebs swung across the ceiling in arcs, and the lighting bounced perfectly across them. It made a striking image- a dead building shining and fluffy cotton candy tangling through pipes. It brought the room to life, in a quietly eerie way. When I was satisfied, I grinned and pulled myself off the floor. Mark and I were the only ones left in this hallway. We followed the clink of bottles and the murmur of laughter. If possible, the building became more complicated the further we went. Barb and Jay were leaning over a safety bar, standing on a patchwork of broken stone and plywood. It didn't look particularly stable, but the duo was too busy craning their eyes up high into the eaves. 

And there was Dave, among the ladder work of thick metal support beams disrupting the pipes. Somehow he had scaled up at least 8 feet and already started what was sure to be a complicated jumble of painted symbols. He brought dozens of bright colors to stand out among the shell of a building. He insisted that "a candy factory shouldn't be dark, it's a crime!". From the echoing hissing, it sounded like he'd started his masterpiece. Since they all seemed intent to stay in here for a time, I gestured at Barb to grab her attention. I motioned I was going to look further in, and snapped a shot of them all before I turned. I heard Dave whining about the flash and slapping one of the nearby pipes, but I was already gone.

The dying light of sunset filtered through a broken beam in the high set ceiling, rotting wood giving way and leaving branching thatches of metal to hold the elements at bay. This left the ground coated in a disgusting slurry of orange and black stains. It reeked of metal and waterlogged supports, but it had a beauty to it. Bigger cylinders and ducts rose from the floor and stood straight among the wreckage. Combined with the claustrophobic maze of girders and piping, it felt like the belly of an enormous beast. Between snaps, my flash revealed a staircase, large and metal to the left of me. I moved closer, unsure how I missed it despite the proximity to the door I came in. I had noticed a few other open doors further down, but the thought of a full layout shot was tempting. As I got closer, I noticed there had been some attempt to make it stand out: the remains of a yellow paint seemed to pool at the bottom of each step. It looked as if it melted at some point, like cheese, uneven and even falling the pool on the floor. I stepped on it cautiously, but it was solid, only making the stairs a bit uneven in spots. 

Mark stepped in front of me, flashlight in hand as we scaled the stairs. He muttered something as we climbed, but the hissing of steam through old pipes drowned him out. I paused, then stopped completely. Mark continued on ahead, speeding up as he reached the top and disappearing ahead. I pulled out my phone and noticed a few missed calls from Barb's phone. I had put my phone on silent, but it seemed strange to have even bothered. Mark and I were only a few rooms away. I tried to call, but it cut up with a long tone, no attempt to connect. 

I called up to Mark about heading back towards the others, unnerved about the echo of my voice in very pointed silence. There wasn't any footsteps or the din of music playing from a phone speaker. I noticed with a jolt even the prolonged hissing had ceased. It had become dark very suddenly, and strikingly cold. Or maybe I stood there in silence, straining for a sound, any sound, for far longer than I realized. I climbed up the stairs slowly, my shoes scuffing across old paint and chalky cement amplified despite my best efforts. Up, up, until I was level with the high rafters. 

At the top stood an oddly normal looking door. It was arched high, but not unusually high- just enough for it to stand out. The doorknob itself was a dull patina, and pointedly eye level. It was as if the room was made to intimidate before you got in. I opened it quietly, and found myself in an open room. It had a large indoor window behind what might've been a large desk. The room held the memory of sugary caramel in the air, overpowering the mildew that perfumed the rest of the building. I stepped toward the surprisingly intact window, skating around the broken desk. There appeared to be an odd, dark enamel coating it in places. It was a strange patchwork of darkened, black burns overlayed with a thick filmy amber substance. The windows overlooked a room rife with machinery, with one monster in the middle standing out. It looked like a big, metal boiler, huge and hulking over the sunken vats and broken walkways. Erupting from the top were even more pipes. Like a nest of wicked spider legs reaching out at tilted angles, disappearing further into the dark rroom.it looked like a bizarre, foreign beast, but the windows warped my attempts to get a good shot. I tried to rub away at the old candy colored panes when my foot hit something with a clunk. Sweat pooled under my jacket and down my back as I tentatively reached down and found a flashlight.  _ My _ flashlight, the one Mark had been holding when he came into this room. The hairs on my neck rose and I stopped breathing. For a truly great moment, I heard nothing. And so I turned around. And my relief cracked and shattered like glass in my veins. There was something there, moving in the shadows behind the door. There was a dull light in its clothes, and it broke the silence with an odd gurgling noise. Like a pot boiling over, the sound belched out of it as it turned around. I braced myself, aware that the window gave away my location and limited my options. And yet. It stood there, with its odd glowing chest and it's stillness. Against my better judgement, I flicked my flashlight on and screamed, the sound erupting violently from my chest and stealing the air from my lungs. 

It was Mark. His jacket looked darker and coated in muck, but recognizable nonetheless. A steam came off it and I could feel the warmth even from the opposite end of the room. Despite this, I hadn't noticed in my rush to examine the room. I could hear a hiss whistle through his jaw, an angry sizzling hole starting to reveal jawbone. The melted flesh of his face made his features sag, and under the sickly scent I could smell cooking meat. I knocked against the window as he stumbled blindly closer. His eyes, I noticed hysterically, were unblinking and bright. Muscle and flesh gave way to bone even more the longer I watched. His frame lit by the same eerie shining out like a damned jack o lantern from his chest. Mark's stilted shuffle reached the decayed desk and stumbled onto it, his body half splayed in front of me. I saw his shoulders jerking harshly against the wood. Palms tugging and leaving flesh behind. That sad, pained face looked up at me, and reached out with a now bloody hand, bone shining through and slowly covered with sizzling amber goo.

I felt the heat before he touched my glove, and the searing pain of molten sugar began eating through to skin. I jerked out of my fear and tore my glove off with my teeth. I felt tender skin give and the warmth of blood dripping as I swung as hard as I could with my flashlight. The impact left cracks and spider webbing across its body, like a candy apple shatters but doesn't quite break. His body still stuck to the table, sticky and scorching hot, a few cooler pieces falling where my flashlight hit. I tried to pull it loose but it stuck fast to its body. My desperate did cause a dark liquid to ooze underneath.

He came loose with a jerk and a crack, wood splintered and covering his coat. The left side of his rib cage appeared to splinter and cave in from the exertion, and more vicious amber leaked to the flood. I abandoned the flashlight as he reached toward me again, his hand now melted sugar on bone, golden talons set on snatching me and not letting go. I dropped myself down and backwards. I felt searing heat down my back and felt scorching heat like fire spreading down my back. I tore it off and threw it into the corner as far as I could, biting my cheek to hold onto another shriek. The burn felt deep, despite the protection of my jacket, and like a knife I could feel the slick from shoulder to hip. My hand ached in time with the agony of my back and I resolved to leave that room even if I had to leap from the window. But it was unnecessary. Mark turned, stumbling towards the corner, specifically where my jacket lay. I took this chance to make my escape and scrambled into the hallway. 

I stumbled out of the room and half fell down the stairs in my haste to get the  _ FUCK OUT NOW _ when I hit something. Something that smelled like cotton candy and made an awful bubbling hiccup. I squeezed my fists tight, tearing further into my weeping wound and swung. But the hand that grabbed me was small and soft. It grabbed me and squeezed me and lips crushed against me. And I smelled that familiar perfume. Mark had bought it for her on their anniversary. I let the embrace last longer than I should, dreading the inevitable fallout when she learned about Mark.

When it ended, she grabbed my arm, pulling me behind her. My lips were sticky from her gloss and I flinched. I wiped my mouth with my hand, smearing blood and flaring pain from my hand. As surprising as it had been, the kiss was pleasant, but it was too soon for sticky sweetness. I preferred the metallic reprieve from sugar and heat. I looked up and noticed Barb had shorn hair. Her ponytail was gone; it looked jagged and worn, and I saw a darkened mark under her jacket in the lowlight. She halted, suddenly, and I crashed into her. She didn't budge, so I carefully looked around her. 

In front of Barb stood a thin creature, its head shoved down over the shaking quarry in front of it. There was a ripped and ruined coverall on him from what I could see. He was bald and horrendously pale and lean. He looked filthy, greasy and wet like Mark. He was making some kind of noise that I strained to hear. It had that same gargling, underwater warble that was so impossible to discern any language. Unlike Mark, I could see the full decay of his body. Most of his skin was gone, a few pieces of gristle and strained muscle under an amber shell. His body sat uneven and awkward, and it looked like the only thing holding him together was the sugar encasing him and that eerie, damned flame. And through this broken creature, I saw Jay. He was holding his head in his hands and shivering, trying to hide under the piping and disappear.

A ping to my right popped;  _ a pipe _ my brain supplied, and the hiss of steam resumed with a vengeance. It slowly filled the room and caused him to turn away from my friend for a moment. Barb moved towards Jay quickly in a display of bravery, heaving his arm over her shoulder as the creature's head bobbed and fell like a puppet with its strings cut. I leaned Jay over my arm as well, and a whimper escaped as he flinched back. I readjusted and together we managed to drag his deadweight back to the front of the building. The creature did not follow us from that room.

When we passed the chasm of the broken window, I dared to finally look back, just to make sure. I saw what was left of Mark. The steam appeared to help his mobility, his shambling faster and that awful hand outstretched. The unearthly glow created shadows that made him look haunted. His other hand was ripping at his mouth, struggling to clear the sugar gag and destroying his face all the quicker. I shoved the door closed as I saw something big and long fall from his gaping skull. 

Dave was already in the car, his face hidden in his hands and his shirt in tatters. He moved his hand and a burn covered his mouth up to his jawline. He stumbled over and clutched Jay, and they both fell to the ground clutching their broken bodies. Barb laced our hands together, a broken smile on her face. 

"I couldn't-I couldn't help Mark. I'm sorry. I found him like that and I just-" a sob swallowed my apology. Nothing I could say would ever be enough to fix this hellish night. But Barb just pulled me close again, stroking my hair and ushering me to the car. As the doors shut I felt the tension snap in me, and I fell asleep on the cold window, a blessed reprieve from the choking heat. Barb never let go of my hand as I drifted still linked as Jay sped away from the building without incident. 

We-  _ I _ left Mark there. It's been years and I think about it constantly. Barb did indeed lose her ponytail, as well as earning a burn from a thick band around her neck, all the way down her back, tracing her spine. I still don't know how she managed to get Jay and I out. Jay managed to avoid the burning sugar touching his skin, but the creature they dealt with picked him up and threw him into the wall. The crack was apparently loud as a gunshot, though I hadn't heard it happen. They worried for awhile he was dead, and I'm sure if anyone else was able, he wouldn't have been driving that night. Dave will only talk about the night after several drinks, in the safety of his house and clutching his new prosthetic like a lifeline. Turns out his spray cans destroyed his arm when the heat hit him. They couldn't salvage it between the chemicals and the shrapnel. I lost feeling in my hand, and we bonded over our broken limbs with tears and copious alcohol.

None of them remember Mark. I thought they were in denial; the guilt of being unable to help blocking it in their mind. But no one remembers him. His parents don't have any children. He's gone from my phone, from every picture I've ever posted. Barb and I had been dating for two years before that trip, apparently. I feel that much more guilty for how happy she makes me. I stole that opportunity from a good man, who could've become a great one. But I'm selfish in that regard; I hoard any affection I can find in life now.

I called my mom, to ask about her brother, if he had ever told her what happened in that sugar factory all those years ago. If he ever confided in her about what caused that look in his eye and the PTSD I was now intimately familiar with. I thought they had been close, close enough to give me something. But she told me what she said every time I brought him up. 

_ I don't have a brother. _

_ _ I can't even remember his name anymore, or his face. I wonder if the same thing will happen to Mark with time. I feel terrible, hoping that he will fade from my mind and release my fractured psyche. But as I think back to that night, and the abandoned cars we left behind, I knew it was inevitable. 

**Author's Note:**

> I spent so much time looking at abandoned sugar refineries and I scrapped so much because I couldn't think of another word for pipes. Spoiler: it's all pipes. Too many pipes. 
> 
> But yeah, when i was a kid my mom always warned me about sugar burns staying hot longer and drilling down. It stick with me and I'm glad i could incorporate it


End file.
